Fortunately, that was the last substantial town before the coastal range. Their engine had to decelerate to climb the steepening grade. But then, so would any pursuit sent after the commotion at Golden Cob. Watching Kiel and Baltha pore over a map, Maia saw they were more worried about what lay ahead. Looking over their shoulders, Maia guessed the Perkinites had one more chance to stop them, near a village named Overlook, where a narrow defile seemed perfect for a hastily organized roadblock.
Too perfect, she later discovered. An ambush had, indeed, been ordered. Nearby clans dispatched squads in response to warnings from Golden Cob, and began throwing up barricades. Yet, by the time the locomotive reached Overlook, the danger was passed. Local vars had surprised the gathering militia with mob force, driving them away before the train arrived.
The counterstroke turned out not to be as spontaneous as it looked, Maia learned. Several of the mob leaders crammed in among the escapees, joining the final leg of the exodus as soon as the last barriers were cleared away. Maia soon realized they were friends of Thalia and Kiel.
I get it. Kiel and her pals can read a map as well as Perkies can. If one place is perfect for an ambush, it can also be just right for ambushing the ambushers. Maia learned that the newcomers had recently taken jobs in the village, just in case of an eventuality like this.
How could a bunch of vars be so well organized? Such long-range thinking was supposedly limited to clone families, with generations of experience and a view of life that stretched beyond the individual's.
Never mind, she told herself. What matters is, it worked!
With shouted cheers, the refugees at last waved goodbye to Long Valley. The locomotive was more crowded than ever during the final stretch over the pass, but no one minded. First sight of the blue ocean triggered an outbreak of singing that lasted all the way down to Grange Head.
Two more of Kiel's friends were waiting in town, so that a fair contingent bid thankful farewell to the engineer, then trooped together from the railyard to the Founders' Gospel Inn, a hostel overlooking the harbor. The new women wore garb of sailing hands — small surprise in a trading port. No doubt most of Kiel's bunch, and Baltha's, had worked their way over on freighters like those moored in the bay.
Maybe someone'll put in a word … get me a job on one of the ships.
Thinking seriously about the future wasn't something she had done in a long time. One compensation of helplessness, of living like a leaf, blown by winds far stronger than yourself. Soon, the downside of freedom would present itself — the curse of decision-making.
Kiel installed the elated adventurers on the hotel veranda, arranged for rooms, and set off with Baltha "to do business." Presumably that meant dickering with the local magistrate, and probably making comm calls to officials halfway round the world. The rest of the party was to stick together, watching out for any last-minute move by the Long Valley clans. They weren't out of Perkinite reach, yet. Safety still lay in numbers.
Which suited Maia fine. For the first time, it really seemed likely she wasn't going back to prison. Her worries had started evaporating on first sight of the beautiful sea.
Even the drab stucco and brick warehouses of the trading port seemed more gay than the last time she had been here, an innocent fiver, immersed in mourning and despair.
With its view overlooking the harbor, but some distance from dockside fish smells, the hotel was far superior to the cheap transients' lodge where she had lain wracked with fever, months ago. When Maia learned she would have her own small room, with a real mattress, she hurried to look it over, finding herself barely able to conceive of such luxury. You could even walk alongside the bed and spread your arms without touching a wall!
The impression of spaciousness was enhanced by her lack of worldly possessions. I'd hang something on the clothes-hooks, if I owned anything but what I'm wearing.
Back on the veranda, her compatriots had settled in with bottles of beer, watching the shadows lengthen. A few had chipped in for a newspaper, a luxury since in most towns the press was ran by subscription only, for the richest clans. The rads sourly disparaged the Grange Head Clipper, which featured mostly commodities prices, along with bickering among candidates in upcoming elections, to be held in a month, on Farsun Day.
"Perkies runnin' against Ortho-doxies," sniffed Kau. "Some choice! An' look, barely any mention of planetwide issues. Nothin' to tempt a var or man to think about votin'. And not a hint about any missin' Visitor from space!" She and Thalia spoke longingly of the two-page weekly put out by their own organization, back in Ursulaborg. "Now there's a newspaper!" Kau commented.
